


An Alpha's Dilemma

by shealynn88



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Attraction, Scott's mad at Derek, alpha!Scott, sexy fighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:42:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shealynn88/pseuds/shealynn88
Summary: After Derek kicks Issac out, Issac goes to Scott.And Scott...well, Scott takes his job as alpha seriously...but he has no idea what he's doing.“C’mon,” Scott says.  “You’re keeping me up with the nightmares.  Got an econ test tomorrow.”Issac grumbles but follows him back up to the bed.  It’s surprisingly easy to fall asleep like that, another warm, forest scented body next to his.
Relationships: Isaac Lahey/Scott McCall
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	An Alpha's Dilemma

**Author's Note:**

> Currently this has an ambiguous ending in regards to their relationship. I plan to add another chapter/story, but I don't know when or even if that will happen, so that's just a little fair warning.

Issac is unexpected, but it doesn’t take Scott long to see what’s going on. 

Issac looks uncertain, eyes shifting side to side. He’s putting on a brave face but his scent is sour with fear.

“Derek?” Scott asks.

Issac just shakes his head. 

Scott gets up, pulls him in by one cold arm, shuts the door behind him. “Sit down,” he says, offering his desk chair so Issac doesn’t soak the bed.

Issac sinks down with something like relief.

Scott gets him dry clothes, steers him into the bathroom and then back to sit on the bed. He sits and he waits, but Issac doesn’t have much more to say. He stares at the floor, shoulders hunched, and he looks so young, suddenly, so vulnerable. His hair is still wet and stringy over his eyes. His scent is beginning to mellow.

“Can I...is it all right?” Issac gestures to the floor.

Scott shrugs, thinks frantically—what’s better? A bed? The couch? Proximity? Scott has a pack, but he doesn’t know what the wolf needs. If only Derek wasn’t such a dick, maybe he could ask these things. But he is and Scott can’t. All he can do is take deep breaths of Issac’s scent and evaluate the line of his shoulders, the way he won’t look Scott in the eye, and finally say, “Yeah, no problem.” He hopes he hasn’t done something stupid.

His mom checks in an hour later, and loads him up with a few more blankets. “Are you sure—” she asks, and he cuts her off so Issac doesn’t hear her offering some human, distant option.

“Yeah, no, it’s good. Just for a night or two. I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says.

She raises an eyebrow and shakes her head, and he’s so grateful, again, for her. It took her time to come around, but the way she just rolls with it, now... The way Stiles always has — Scott knows he’s luckier than he has any right to be. “Thanks,” he says, and she smiles.

“What am I going to do?” she asks,exasperated and fond. 

He kisses her cheek and then goes back in and adds the blankets to the pile on the floor. Issac is idly playing with the plaid pajama bottoms Scott loaned him. He looks a little less vacant, a little less hunched.

“Is this good?” Scott asks.

Issac looks up for a long moment before looking down at the pile and nodding. “Yeah… Yeah, thanks.”

Issac climbs into the pile, burrows down like he might finally find warmth again, and Scott climbs into his bed and turns out the light.

* * *

It’s the whimpering that wakes him, and instinct brings him to the floor. Issac’s palpable fog of fear clogs Scott’s sinuses, and he presses his body against Issac’s before he has time to think it through. The wolf knows what to do, and the whimpering stops.

“Issac?” Scott asks. He can feel a hot blush blazing up his face—the human side of him finally catching up to the way he’s draped over Issac —but he ignores it. Issac is a wolf, and Scott can hear, smell, _feel_ how right his instinct was, how Issac has relaxed under him, how the fear has softened and the whimpers slowed to something calm and rhythmic. “Issac?” he asks again, a little louder.

“Mmm?” Issac doesn’t sound awake yet, and then he suddenly is, every muscle now stiff and frozen under Scott’s weight.

Scott moves back. “How did you sleep? Back with the pack?”

“‘M fine,” Issac mumbles darkly.

“Together, right?” Scott really hopes he’s not on the wrong track, here.

“Not like that, you perv,” Issac says, but there’s no malice in his tone.

“C’mon,” Scott says. “You’re keeping me up with the nightmares. Got an econ test tomorrow.”

Issac grumbles but follows him back up to the bed. It’s surprisingly easy to fall asleep like that, another warm, forest scented body next to his.

* * *

Issac still dreams sometimes. Not as often. Not as painful, but Scott always feels it right away and reaches out to soothe. It’s a wolf thing. Just that. Warmth and bodies and numbers and the pack, the soothing nature of a tactile bond. That’s all it is. Of _course_ it is. He’s been telling himself that for weeks.

And then there’s another dream and he pulls Issac in, nuzzles his nose behind Issac’s ear, breathes against his neck in a reassuring alpha way—caretaking, just that, just reassuring, and then pressing lips into his neck, his hairline, and Issac turns toward him, awake and smelling warm and comfortable and very, very tasty somehow, and Scott continues, lips against his forehead, the slope of his cheekbones, trying to offer him comfort with his body, with a low rolling sound, almost a purr. It’s a sound he didn’t even know he could make until this started happening.

And then Issac’s eyes go gold just before they close, and their lips are slotted together—warm and slick and it feels just perfect, and Issac’s tongue touches his lips and everything is suddenly electric and he’s kissing him and it’s not a wolf thing anymore. Jesus, no. This is a human thing, and it feels amazing, and he never thought he’d want this from anyone else, it feels like cheating, it’s _wrong_ , and he never, ever wants to stop. Because the wolf wants it. 

Just the wolf. 

Scott takes the window and leaps off the roof and stays in the shadows all the way to the park. He wants to howl, but he bites down so it’s just a low, pained growl. The last thing he needs is Derek finding him and telling him how much of a mess he is. _Fuck_. He’s really fucked up. Really, really gotten all of this completely screwed up in his head.

He smashes his fist into a tree and something snaps, ice cold pain slicing through his hand and then white hot as he heals, knits, goes back, just like new except he’s not. He’s not new. He’s an alpha, kind of, and a piss poor one if he’s going to do this with the only member of his pack that has a biological requirement to please him. 

Issac shoves him down before Scott even registers he’s there, and he slides through the rotting leaves on his back, stays there as he wrestles his wolf. He will not go after Issac in anger. Not like Derek. He growls in warning as he shoves the wolf back and Issac’s eyes glow gold and furious. 

“What’re you going to do, _alpha_?” Issac taunts. “You gonna run away again?”

Scott bares his long teeth as Issac stalks closer.

“Big, bad alpha,” Issac whispers, moving in, nearly touching.

Scott growls again, lets his mouth open. He wants to give a warning, he wants to snap or claw or run again. But he won’t. He can’t give Issac the satisfaction of knowing he’s getting to him.

“Is being a wolf so hard?” Issac asks, and he’s kneeling over Scott now, nosing under his chin. Not at his neck, not in a threat, but in that deferential way wolves have, licking underneath his jaw, slow and measured, like he’s tasting every square inch. “Is _having_ a wolf so hard?”

Scott finally manages to push him back. Barely. He’s human, now, no fangs, no claws, just his heart pounding in his ears and the tightness of his abdomen that he’s trying so hard not to think about. “It’s not,” he says, voice strangled and shaking in his own ears. Jesus. Issac needs someone to take charge of him, and here Scott is sounding like a first day freshman, terrified of his own shadow.

He swallows, can’t look at Issac where he crouches, but he can feel his eyes, his singular focus. 

“Issac, it’s not a wolf thing for me. I don’t...I don’t think...I’m not…”

Issac is on him again, lightning quick, and Issac’s eyes have faded to shadows in the light of the crescent moon. Issac noses again under his jaw, and he closes his eyes as that tongue works slowly over the line of his chin, blunt teeth scrape against him and he whimpers, a wholly human sound. His breath is ragged in his throat, he’s forgotten every sound but the beating of his heart.

Issac smells delicious. Musk and salt and earth and something sweet underneath it, a curl of something warm that brings all of Scott to attention.

“Shhh,” Issac murmurs. “Doesn’t have to be,” he says, biting again. “Doesn’t have to be a wolf thing.”

Scott’s prided himself on his control lately, but he completely loses it with Issac’s teeth working against his jaw like that. He grabs Issac by the throat, throws his pliant body over, down, and then climbs on top, shoves his nose into his throat so he can smell him up close, all that smoke, that sweat, that warm curl of want that’s simmering right there, right in the pit of his neck, right against his collarbone, soaking the front of his shirt (Scott’s shirt) right along with the salt sweat of the chase.

“Scott,” Issac whimpers, and Scott sets his teeth in the meat of Issac’s shoulder. Nothing sharp. Just his blunt human teeth saying blunt, human things. He slides his whole body up, up the center line of Issac’s long body, feeling every inch of Issac’s skin along every inch of his, and he forgets to breathe when his hips slide home between Issac’s legs and their cocks lie thick next to each other. He’s completely fuzzy headed with all the things he wants to do. All the things his wolf wants. All the things his hormones are screaming for. But he just doesn’t know how much is hierarchy and he… _God_ , he hates to stop. Not when he could just move slowly, press his hips forward over and over again, it would only take a minute, really, he’s already so wrecked.

He gets up. His pajamas hide exactly nothing - even if Issac couldn’t already smell it on him, which, of course, he can. Issac’s musky scent mixing with his own. It would be so much stronger after, that sharp scent like sweat but more, more like the ocean, and he wonders if Issac would smell different than him, wants to shove Issac down again and press his face between his legs and find out.

Scott takes a deep breath and holds out a hand. Issac gives a little growl. Frustrated. Human. Then grabs his hand and lets Scott pull him up.

* * *

“Is it Allison?” Issac asks when they’re wound around each other in Scott’s bed.

Scott stiffens. Guilt shoves it’s way through his veins. “Just can’t,” he says finally. “I just can’t right now.”

Issac curls into him slowly, carefully, like Scott might run again, or shove him away.

Scott pulls him into the position they’ve found over the last two weeks, Issac’s face tucked under Scott’s chin, Scott’s leg thrown over his hip. It wasn’t charged before. Not like now.

Scott swears he’ll never be able to sleep like this. 

And then he does.


End file.
